No Recourse
by Jody Barsch
Summary: One shot. The war rages on, Arya Stark has come of age, and with no Stark-Lannister heir from Sansa, Arya is now highly pursued by the battling factions. Her consent is the least they are after. [This is not a romance]


**A/N:** _I have not read the books (but then again, this is categorized on the site as TV, and I definitely have that covered). Also, I wrote this piece before the end of season 3 — it does not quite fit into the world perfectly_. _This is my only piece for GoT._

[_Notice: does NOT mirror the reality of the Arya-Gendry relationship. Again, this is NOT a story of consent._]

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"_Gendry—" _she would have gasped had his hand not been muffling her mouth. And he feels something within her release, and open, and come, and he hates himself all the more for it. Something in him felt that if she hadn't, if there'd been no pleasure in it for her, her innocence would not be so completely lost. That there would still be something of hers that was hers, something left for her to give of her own volition. But he'd left her with nothing. And Gendry hates himself for it.

After, rising from her, he refuses to look at her. He does not want her to see him in his shame nor to see the look of hatred that must now be there upon her face. Surely his name would be added to her list. And rightfully so.

Tugging up and re-lacing his trousers Gendry catches his breath and leaves silently, wishing for a bath. For blackness. Though still he loves her, he'd taken no pleasure in this — nothing but what the basest, lowliest part of himself couldn't keep from enjoying. In the darkness outside his tent he grabs a flagon and begins to drink. He'd had her. He'd _had_ Lady Arya Stark. But still she was not his. Still she eludes him and ever still she is a mystery to him. He'd left her her dress, never bothered with her stays or upper undergarments, only what had been utmost necessary had been removed or shifted. He'd seen next to nothing of her and felt, aside from fabric, just as little.

He knows that counts for nothing. She will not recognize that distinction. There is no partial dignity, no partial chastity. He'd taken what mattered. Of course it doesn't matter he hadn't battered her face, he hadn't thrust himself in one great mighty brandish, he hadn't taken her in the manner of animals. But none of that will matter. There is no lesser-degree of female marauders. Gentility does nothing to mitigate the crime. He is regent in these parts, but now he is her ravager too.

Though the world is changing quickly, thrusting some up into fire and glory and smiting others with fell black blows, and in the maelstrom both their circumstances have been many times over reforged in others' blood, Gendry'd never looked upon himself as an equal to Arya Stark, and now he'll never again bring himself to look upon his lady at all; and Gendry's heart is broken.

_Had_ he looked at Arya, at any point, he might have seen she understood. Robb had fallen, bloodily — betrayed and dishonorably cut down. Stannis Baratheon is moving ever closer, and all the while Daenerys Targaryen is setting the world to flame as from the North the stories of the White Walkers loom nearer and darker. It is time to forge alliances.

Everyone knows Sansa had never shared her husband's marriage bed, and the Lannisters are desperate, grasping for chances to steel their position and fortify their standing. Stannis too wants an alliance with the North and what remains of the Stark loyalists. No one wants her going to the cousins, or worse, much worse, aligning herself with the faceless men, as it is told she one day might. And truthfully it is more than just the forces of Riverun, Winterfell and the North the still-standing contenders are after; more than the distant threat from Braavos. Arya is the living connection to the now legendary Jon Snow and his Wildling masses. Jon Snow's family allegiance is well known; he will fight for the family and for his dearest sibling. Or so it is feared. If Lady Arya Stark takes a position of power through marriage, or, more likely the case, is taken into marriage by a position of power, Jon Snow may have a reason to ally himself and his hoards of savages with that house. It is only a chance, remote and based on hearsay, but the war continues to rage and the houses are falling, and they look for anything to give themselves footing. And somehow once again there's a Stark girl in the mix. And as time's passed and she's come of age, it's not her name or her house that are on the table, but her womb. She needs to be wedded and bedded and to produce a legitimate heir, one that will tether armies together, solder divergent factions to one.

But it cannot happen if she has been spoiled.

Though her family has been systematically razed and her home laid ruin to, the Stark lady cannot marry any upstart foot soldier; which puts her even more in peril. To keep her from those with some claim, any semi-upright brute with a blade and a thirst for blood and girl now have Arya in their sights to ruin. Should this happen she may still be taken, for sport and for plunder, but prized as much lesser goods owing that any child after would be illegitimate. Not a rightful heir.

"_Seven hells_," he curses through his stupor, "I've taken _that_ from her too..."

It'd been a long time since the world had seen such costly maidenhead, prized in blood, the least of which would be hers. And the war and the warring had to be stopped. At any price. Because it had already been paid too dearly and at too exacting a cost by the lowest of Westeros, caught in a snarling, brawling feud between wolves and lions, stags and dragons; and what chance against such beasts had common men?

Gendry, their champion, had had no choice.

And she, alone now on her pallet and no more than tepidly ravished, understands that in this dark, horrid world where good and loving fathers are unjustly struck down and dearly loved mothers and brothers are pierced through, slit and pushed from towers, in this world where the light is dimming and winter _is _surely coming, he had to. Pragmatist she is by nature or rendered so by woe, Arya recognizes it could have been anyone; she recognizes this — _theft,_ this transgression, was not what it could have been. Or would have been, had it been any other who had captured her near the now abandoned ruins of Harrenhal.

Throughout she had felt his restraint; she had sensed his inward-directed disgust. Arya had felt the absence of his eyes on her — his unwillingness to see her without having been invited, and she had watched his tightly shut eyes, clenched in his duplicity of pleasure and misery, of long-awaited satiation and longer-practiced self-denial. Even as he hurt her, for try as he might to abate it there would be some pain, what coursed through her head had not been revenge. For what he had not allowed himself to see, what he had never seen, was that she loves him.

He's hurt her, yes. He'd left her for the Brotherhood; he'd done this to her; he never stood up to power in the times when she thought he should. But he was Gendry — the only family she's ever gotten back since the first miserable loss, and she, to him, was the only family he'd ever really known.

Outside, beneath the cloud-covered night, he drinks more.

She hates him, yes. But no more than he's hurt and hates himself.

The Brotherhood had demanded this of him, it was in their interest to break the alliances where they could and to legitimize Gendry, their bastard leader risen from the dirt and rabble. And this much he had done; but he would do no more. He will not take her as his wife. He never could. He never would have dared to take the lady Arya as his; and now… He would not make her pretend to love him, to suit and sleep and live beside him. To serve him and bear his children. This act, this one ignoble solitary act was all that he could give her. It, as best it could, protected her from others and it protected her from him. She was his victim now to be sure, but she would not be his life-long prisoner. He would not harness to her shame and loathing as a dowry.

But where then does that leave her? Who to send her to, and how, and to what end? He had gone through with this because he'd seen no other choice, but from it there seems no path of action. No recourse for her at all.

And band of brothers or no, he's never felt more completely alone nor so absolutely without a home; a friend; a spirit.

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**A/N: **_Thanks for reading! Please excuse the following: 1.) any lacking in understanding and/or misappliance of the political intricacies of the show; 2.) not yet having read the books; 3.) turning against my feminist roots and allowing the empathy to follow the perpetrator rather than the victim; 4.) sullying the chaste storyline of Gendry and Arya (and submitting Arya to any more violence and betrayal); 5.) the unknown dark place this story came from; 6:) and **most of all** — taking Arya, the best female, and in the running for best overall, character in the show and victimizing her. _ __Thank you._ R/R?

**Updated A/N:** _Wow, that's a lot of comments in the first hour... maybe I should have just stuck to my wheelhouse. It is not meant to be sexy - I don't know what it was meant to be. I wrote it fast, sat on it a couple months, then on a whim posted. But maybe I should take more responsibility than that (hence recategorizing). Though it does bear saying, GoT isn't the most puritanical source material. (Though yes, this is Arya)_


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